_Dor._ Would my _Alexis_ meet my noble Flame, In all _Ausonia_ neither Youth nor Dame, Should so renown'd in Deathless Numbers shine, As thy exalted Name should do in mine. _Alex._ He'll need no Trophie nor ambitious Hearse, Who shall be honour'd by _Dorinda_'s Verse; But where it is inscrib'd, _That here doth lie Lycoris_'s _Love_. That Fame can never die. _Dor._ On _Tyber_'s Bank I _Thyrsis_ did espie, And by his side did bright _Lycoris_ lie; She Crown'd his Head, and Kist his amorous Brow, Ah Poor _Alexis_! Ah then where wer't thou? _Alex._ When thou saw'st that, I ne'r had seen my Fair, And what pass'd then ought not to be my Care; I liv'd not then, but first began to be, When I _Lycoris_ Lov'd, and she Lov'd me. _Dor._ Ah choose a Faith, a Faith that's like thine own, A Virgin Love, a Love that's newly blown: 'Tis not enough a Maidens Heart is chast, It must be Single, and not once mis-plac't. _Alex._ Thus do our Priests of Heavenly Pastures tell, Eternal Groves, all Earthly, that excel: And think to wean us from our Loves below, By dazling Objects which we cannot know. On Death. Tell me thou safest End of all our Woe, Why wreched Mortals do avoid thee so: Thou gentle drier o'th' afflicteds Tears, Thou noble ender of the Cowards Fears; Thou sweet Repose to Lovers sad dispaire, Thou Calm t'Ambitions rough Tempestuous Care. If in regard of Bliss thou wert a Curse, And then the Joys of Paradise art worse; Yet after Man from his first Station fell, And God from _Eden_ _Adam_ did expel, Thou wert no more an Evil, but Relief; The Balm and Cure to ev'ry Humane Grief: Through thee (what Man had forfeited before) He now enjoys, and ne'r can loose it more. No subtile Serpents in the Grave betray, Worms on the Body there, not Soul do prey; No Vice there Tempts, no Terrors there afright, No Coz'ning Sin affords a false delight: No vain Contentions do that Peace annoy, No feirce Alarms break the lasting Joy. Ah since from thee so many Blessings flow, Such real Good as Life can never know; Come when thou wilt, in thy afrighting'st Dress, Thy Shape shall never make thy Welcome less. Thou mayst to Joy, but ne'er to fear give Birth, Thou Best, as well as Certain'st thing on Earth. Fly thee? May Travellers then fly their Rest, And hungry Infants fly the profer'd Brest. No, those that faint and tremble at thy Name, Fly from their Good on a mistaken Fame. Thus Childish fear did _Israel_ of old From Plenty and the Promis'd Land with-hold; They fancy'd Giants, and refus'd to go, When _Canaan_ did with Milk and Honey flow. First EPIGRAM. _Upon being Contented with a Little._